


Flower Boys

by b_ofdale



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Gen, John being a Good and Loving dad, John is one Emotional man and in this house we embrace that fact, Joseph and Stevie don't even interact that's how much POV John this fic is, M/M, POV John Moore, don't judge me I wrote this because my beta begged me to, set 6 years after The Alienist, the future they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 15:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale
Summary: Love wasn’t something John was unfamiliar with. He and love, well. . . they were actually good acquainted, to say the least—and John had experienced and seen it enough throughout the years to be able to recognize it in one’s behavior.His son Joseph was no exception.





	Flower Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnsmoore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsmoore/gifts).



> Well, you already read it, but there you go [Liz](http://johnsmoore.tumblr.com), and thank you so much for the editing <33 I love you! 
> 
> Do you have any idea how satisfying it was to write John referring to Joseph as his 'son' because it filled me with as much happiness as I'd expected there'd be.
> 
> Since it isn't mentioned in the show, I kept Stevie and Joseph's age from the book. The fic is set 6 years after The Alienist, so that makes Stevie, 18, and Joseph, 16. Another thing that wasn't in the show is Stevie's love for smoking, which I mention here. Finally, John's grandmother dies between the two books, which is why John and Joseph live in John's apartment from The Angel of Darkness.

Love wasn’t something John was unfamiliar with. He and love, well. . . they were actually good acquainted, to say the least—and John had experienced and seen it enough throughout the years to be able to recognize it in one’s behavior. 

His son Joseph was no exception. 

Without a doubt Joseph was love-stricken by someone, and though John had noticed some months ago, he hadn’t dared intrude on Joseph’s private life, knowing from experience with his own father that it might just only push Joseph away. Being interested in his child’s life was one thing, intruding on it was another, and that wasn’t an overstep that John was willing to risk taking.

Which didn’t stop him from being curious. 

John rolled his limonade in its glass, an old habit from his drinking years. He hadn’t had much alcohol since the end of the Beecham case six years ago, except for a handful of rough nights when his old demons had come back to haunt him, eating at him until he’d shaken himself off and got back on his feet. He was two years clean, now, and had managed, whenever he felt so down that his first instinct was to empty a bottle of bourbon, to find comfort in other things. 

One of these things was writing; Sara had eventually taught him to use his typewriter, and he’d found typing down his thoughts and feelings helped much—perhaps as much as drawing. Along with this new hobby, he’d had to learn to draw for himself again, after a decade of inadvertently turning his passion exclusively into work. 

He had Joseph to thank for that, amongst many other things. 

John was sitting on the sofa, sketching away in his pad a drowsing Eliza, the cat that Joseph had one day brought home from the streets and begged to add to the family, when a voice rose behind him. 

“Dad?” 

Startled, John glanced behind his shoulder to find Joseph entering the room, bearing that expression of his that told he was determined to talk about something, but wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject. 

Five years since Joseph started living with him, four since he’d started being called ‘dad’, and it still never failed to send gentle jolts of joyful warmth through his heart. 

Placing his drawing pad next to his lemonade on the low table in front of him, John clasped his hands together. “Is everything alright?” he asked casually, though from Joseph’s stance and expression, John guessed easily what the conversation would be about. Toning down his excitement, he sent Joseph an encouraging look. 

Joseph shifted awkwardly on his feet before striding to the chair on which Eliza slept, picked her up, and sat in her place before placing her on his lap. She fell back asleep right there and then, snuggling closer to him as if she hadn’t been disturbed in the slightest. 

“How do I let someone know that I like them?” Joseph blurted out without introduction. 

John gaped for a second, not expecting to jump immediately to this part of the conversation. “Well I’m happy to learn that you like someone in the first place.”

Joseph raised an eyebrow at him. “Dad. You’re the biggest romantic anyone will ever meet in their life, ever,” he said. “It’s like you just. . . know. And I’ve known that you’ve known since _forever_.”

At that John scoffed, more amused than offended. He chose not to deny it, focusing instead on how glad he was that Joseph had chosen to finally talk to him about it. “I suppose you’ve got a point there,” he admitted. He then leaned forward, almost conspirationaly. “So—who’s the lucky lad?”

Instantly, a bright blush spread across Joseph’s cheeks. “I—It’s, uh—” He ran his hand through his hair, eyes set on his cat. She rolled and turned, exposing her belly to rubs. While Joseph could pet her there all he wanted, John couldn’t even try without getting his hand turned to shreds. 

“Tell me how to tell him first,” Joseph eventually said. 

“Perhaps you could. . .” Putting his curiosity aside, John thought for a moment. The idea came quickly, taken from memories. “. . . get him a flower.”

Joseph looked skeptical as he tipped his head slightly to the side. “A flower?”

“Men love flowers,” John assured him with conviction. “They just don’t know it until they are gifted one.”

“Do _you_ love flowers?”

John nodded, smiling to himself as he let the memories in, remembering his second boyfriend. Who, like the first, had had to be kept a secret. Nonetheless, he’d once discreetly been surprised with a single peony, and almost cried at the sight, for the feeling had been unique. Even merely thinking of it. . .

With an amused smile, Joseph shrugged. “I don’t know why I asked,” he said, gesturing to the silver and blue flowery waistcoat John was wearing, his favourite. “. . . are you going to cry?”

“You still didn’t tell me who it was,” John tried again, shaking himself off and unashamedly redirecting the conversation to its starting point. “Someone from school?”

“No.”

“Kreizler’s institute?” Joseph shook his head, and John’s brows furrowed. “Where, then?”

Joseph shifted on his seat, clearly apprehensive to reveal his crush’s identity. Who on earth might it be, John wondered, for Joseph’s incline towards boys was no secret, not since John himself had told him of his past relationships, and in doing so, made Joseph comfortable to speak freely of his own attraction. There wasn’t any reason why Joseph would be nervous over such a thing. 

Unless, it was someone John knew himself—

“Oh.”

Given the look Joseph sent his way, John didn’t have to voice his guess to know it was most certainly the right one.

“Could it be—”

“Yes,” Joseph cut in, and John didn’t miss the spark in Joseph’s eyes, before he even spoke the name. He swayed on his feet, an unusual sight. “Stevie.”

_Stevie._

John smiled, though he was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how he’d managed to miss it, but then, Joseph usually met with Stevie without him, and he didn’t pay much attention to their interactions whenever they had dinner with Kreizler, since Stevie usually either drove the carriage and didn’t accompany them, or stayed home. When they met at Laszlo’s house, John had to admit he was busier talking with his friends than paying attention to whatever his son and Stevie were up to about the place. 

“Well that’s—a surprise, to say the least,” John said, leaning against the back of the sofa. Joseph and Stevie. What an interesting, unexpected picture. “But that makes it easier. . . !”

“Easier?” asked Joseph, visibly relieved to get a casual reaction from John. 

“Well, yes.” John paused, still smiling to himself at the confirmation of his boy being in love for the first time, and with Stevie, no less. “I know Stevie. Get him something to smoke, and he’ll be as happy as one can be.”

I’ll have to warn Stevie not to give Joseph his bad habits, John thought to himself. He smokes enough for the both of them. 

“But what if he. . . only likes girls?” Joseph asked carefully. John understood at once that it was the source of Joseph’s main worries, and rightfully so; Stevie had grieved for a long time his lost girlfriend, Kat, and had never shown any indication of an attraction towards boys as of now. 

“Perhaps,” John said, slowly. “Or perhaps he’s like me. You can only know by telling him how you feel.”

Though he gave a nod of his head, Joseph didn’t seem entirely convinced. “But, if he isn’t. . . what if I make it awkward between us?”

“You won’t,” John promised. “Stevie’s a good lad, and you’re good friends. Besides, it’s still flattering, don’t you think?” John set a serious but understanding look on Joseph now. “However, it’s not easy to hear, but. . . I can’t promise you that he’ll return your feelings—if he doesn’t because of who he likes, or because it’s simply not meant to be, you can only prepare yourself for it, and try to let it go. It’s not painless, but he’ll see it. . . and you’ll both be alright, in the end.” A gentler expression came back onto his face then. “But there’s no reason not to hope.” 

As Joseph slowly nodded, building up his courage, John’s eyes trailed over the cat for a short moment, then Joseph himself. 

“Joseph—I appreciate this,” he began, tapping his fingers over his lap. “You telling me. You didn't have to.” 

“I know,” Joseph said, then shrugged. “It’s just—I trust you, you know?”

John smiled. More than anyone, John knew that teenagers didn't always go to their parents regarding such matters; he and his late brother most certainly didn't. That Joseph felt comfortable enough around him to ask for his advice. . . it meant more than John could say. 

But he'd have time to feel emotional over all this later. For now—

“Alright, so. . . Listen to me carefully,” John said, pushing away his building up emotions. “About those flowers—”

John then proceeded to teach Joseph all his knowledge over the subtle art of letting someone know of one's feelings. Joseph listened intently, Eliza purring away all throughout, a soft rumble underneath their enthusiastic chatter. A familiar atmosphere, really—many were the evenings spent in such a way, either in comfortable silence or talking the night away until they grew too tired to continue, John often even falling asleep right there and finding a blanket upon his shoulders in the morning. 

Later, Joseph was, John hoped, as ready and determined as he’d been on his first day of school, despite his growing nervousness. He gently carried Eliza to the nearest chair, then ran to his room. John waited, not seeing him coming out. Curious as he was to see what took him so long, John left to sofa to go peek his head inside Joseph’s room. 

He had just finished putting on a deep blue vest, and now struggled with his tie, as usual.

‘A little Moore,’ Lucius had once said. He hadn’t known then, how true that would come to be; Joseph was still Joseph, but for special occasions he appreciated good clothes and a good impression, more than he let on. When John had asked, Laszlo had explained that it might be to unconsciously prove to himself and to others that his past was far behind him. 

‘And, he simply looks up to you,’ Laszlo had continued, thus it was only normal that he would try to walk in the footsteps of the one he’d come to see as the father he’d never had. 

Someday, Joseph would find his own steps—and while some parts of John he would leave behind, others he would keep. 

Feelings high, John silently walked up to him, gently taking Joseph by the shoulders and turning him around. He fixed the tie, explaining the process step by step, like he’d done a few times before, and didn’t mind carrying on doing until Joseph would find it easy.

“You look handsome,” John assured him when they were done, then handed him a few dollars. “What are you waiting for? Go get him!”

Joseph grinned, taking the money and sliding it inside his pocket, blush still all over his cheeks. “Thanks, dad,” he said, and as he walked out the door, added, “Love you.”

Then, just like that, he was gone.

John breathed in deep, bubbling with happiness. That went pretty well, he thought, shaking his head in fondness as he returned to the living room, the cat, and his sketches. Joseph’s return couldn’t come soon enough, and hopefully, with good news.

That night, perhaps, they would celebrate.

  


~•§•~

It was late, when Joseph came home.

John was promptly hugged before he could get one proper look at his son; quickly sending him on the verge of panic at the thought of having messed it up somehow. 

That is, until he understood Joseph’s mumbled words against his chest. 

“You were right,” Joseph was saying, the smile in his voice as clear as if John had seen it across his face. John’s heart was about to burst. “Boys do love flowers.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, don't forget to press the Kudos button! Also, even a short comment would be wonderful!!  
> Thank you for reading! <3 Check out my account for more The Alienist short fics! :D
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ [evansluke](http://evansluke.tumblr.com)!


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